


Kaia Chronicles

by iamfrom101



Category: Elder Scrolls Online
Genre: Adopted Children, Gen, Lovers to Friends, Still bad at tagging, domestic stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:54:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29392968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamfrom101/pseuds/iamfrom101
Summary: Some drabbles of mine with a couple of my OCs and an OC belonging to my friend (I got their permission to post). Can be deemed as one shots, but also go into the bigger picture of my characters in this universe. Very few of my works are beta read, but I spend a lot of time going back and editing my chapters. Doesn't make them flawless, but better than they were while I was writing them.So far, no rhyme or reason to these chapters—they're just bits and pieces of my OCs' history, placed at random.
Relationships: OC Ivan Björkman & OC Vulf'dar, OC Kaia Vî-Björkman & OC Ivan Björkman, OC Kaia Vî-Björkman & OC Vulf'dar, OC Kaia Vî-Björkman / Jorunn the Skald-King





	1. Miracles Happen

Miracles Happen

Kaia POV

I’ve been on my own for a while now. Vulf has been… well, Vulf. He comes and goes. Nothing like our younger years when we would travel throughout all of Tamriel, plunging ourselves into caves and taking whatever we thought would aid us in our adventures.

Ever since I started to embrace my Nord culture, I’ve spent more time at home—the house I have back near Nimalten in the Rift. He likes to come around from time to time to visit and to have a few nights of familiar companionship, with somebody he actually knows, instead of the random bar-maidens he’s become accustomed to.

But, for the most part, I’m alone. Jorunn hasn’t been around in a while. I miss him—a lot. I always really enjoyed his company. He has interesting conversation to offer, and his nonverbal bodily conversation isn’t so bad either. But I’m assuming he’s busy up in Eastmarch at the Palace of the Kings. I’ve thought about visiting him instead countless times, but I don’t know what I’ll be faced with—I’ve never been in the Palace. I don’t even know if I’d be allowed inside. I heard what Thane Mera was telling everyone during the Konunleikar. Not even the servants were allowed to reenter once leaving for a time. The ongoing construction has been a real disruption for court intrigue.

But even now, as I sit in front of the fireplace in Autumn’s-Gate, I find myself craving connections. Taking action would be the only way to satiate this feeling. I stand and find a pack, filling it with some food and water for the long journey ahead of me.

* * *

As I’m riding into Eastmarch, I get a notion. Not only has Jorunn been away from me, I’ve been away from him as well. All this time that we’ve been apart—it’s not just on him. I haven’t made the journey to see him either. I figure it would at least be a nice gesture to provide some sort of apology. I continue riding north until I reach the road nearing Windhelm and make a sharp left, heading west to Voljar’s Meadery. They’ve gotten back on their feet in recent years from what little news I’ve heard from Eastmarch.

I come to the forking path and take a right, crossing the small bridge leading to the famous place known for the Nord’s drink of choice. This is when I hear it—a small cry. It sounds like a baby. One that has been crying for a while with no attention afforded to it. Completely forgetting my quest for mead, I follow the cry.

It definitely is a baby. And it’s in a rather compromising situation.

Just born—probably no more than a couple hours ago—a baby boy lies in the snow, his umbilical cord still attached, hanging out the nether regions of his now dead Nord mother. A nearby Argonian lies dead as well, seemingly in a defensive position to protect the mother in her vulnerable state. Not only is she dead from probably bleeding out, but there are battle marks on her—tears in her skin from what looks to be very large claws. Same goes for her Argonian defender.

The baby’s wails again draw my attention to him and away from the gruesome scene before me.

I get off my horse and walk over to him, looking around for the cause of the adults’ deaths. I know Rageclaw abodes in the area. Nobody has been brave enough thus far to go into his den and exterminate the werewolf. It’s crossed my mind on several occasions, but since Vulf is off galivanting throughout Tamriel without me, I’ve almost become afraid to face something so awful by myself.

I look in a nearby pack for something that can help me. I end up taking some shears from said pack and cut his cord, freeing him from his tether to his lifeless mother. He continues his cries, his bawling picking up in energy and volume, hearing a racket near him.

“I don’t know what to do with you, sweetheart,” I tell him, knowing I’m in no way able to take care of him. Yet I find myself feeling a need to at least try. For his sake. I pick him up and start to make for my horse.

“I’ll have that now.” I hear a growling voice from behind me. In my attending to the baby, I didn’t hear his approach. But as I turn around, I see Rageclaw—I’m presuming—standing right behind me. He’s half hunched over, ready to pounce at any moment. “You interrupted my meal. I leave for one minute and come back to you trying to take the tender one. I won’t be having that.”

“I won’t be having you eat this poor, defenseless baby,” I retort. “You can come through me if you’d like to try.”

“Brave words from a woman your size. Very well. I suppose I’ll have you both.”

In the next moment, I find myself wanting to shift into my alternate self to challenge this beast. Werewolf against werewolf—who would win? But I know I can’t. I’d end up hurting, maybe even killing this baby I’m holding. What to do…

I flop facedown onto the ground, shielding the baby beneath me, just as Rageclaw’s paws sink into my skin. He rips and tears into my back as I continue to safeguard this fragile boy under my body.

I’ve always been tough, even for a Nord. I suppose I can thank my werewolf nature for most of that. I hurt a little more than most if I’m poisoned on the battlefield, but neither sword nor mace, dagger nor bow can penetrate my skin very far. Same goes for Rageclaw. He doesn’t get much purchase with his claws, but try he does.

His longevity is something to covet. He maintains a steady stream of beatings upon my back, trying to break me enough to reach what he called “the tender one.” Whether he intends to feast on my flesh once I’ve relinquished to his battering is beyond me. But I can’t sit idly by while he gorges himself with the meat of a newborn child, and potentially his two predecessors.

The beatings continue on for an unmeasurable amount of time. It feels like a small eternity. But, despite how bad I want to give in, to allow him to kill me or the baby, I press on. Gods knows I’m too young to pass over to Sovngarde.

Not soon enough, but better late than never, Rageclaw seems to have his attention thwarted as I hear, “Hey now. None of that mess,” in a very distinctive and recognizable voice—although bordering on a panic, which is something I’ve never heard before.

I hear a crunch of a werewolf skull with the weight of a heavy weapon. I turn my head just enough to see Rageclaw laying on the ground next to me, a large wedge cut out of his head. The beast finally slain after taking so many lives—both the innocent that were hunted down just as the drunken buffoons who went in search of “honour.”

I turn in the other direction and see Jorunn standing, his battle-axe hanging from one hand, staring at Hircine’s foul creature.

Once he’s satisfied that it’s dead, he comes over to me, dropping and all but forgetting his axe for the time being.

“Kaia, what are you doing out here all by yourself? Are you crazy?” Some would take offense to his tone, but I hear it as him being worried—something that doesn’t come out too often to be familiar instantly. I roll over a bit to expose the baby I’ve been guarding.

“Ysmir’s Beard!” He looks around as if for the first time and his eyes land on what I assume to be the horrific birthing area of this child. “We have to get you two out of this place.”

The pain from being ravaged by Rageclaw is so great, and the fact that I know the baby and I are safe, is too much. I succumb to my wounds and am rendered unconscious for an unfathomable span of time.

* * *

Registering some pain, I begin to awaken. Pain, an unfamiliar scent, and small voices, as if they’re far away or behind closed doors.

Before I can stop myself, I start to move, as if to get up from laying on my side. I’m not sure why I don’t just open my eyes first to see where I am. I suppose my body remembers the trauma I suffered before my mind does.

I end up groaning quite loudly as my body rejects the motion I involuntarily subjected it to.

“Lie down, Kaia, before you hurt yourself, for Kyne’s sake.” Away from me, “She’s awake. Go get Sleeps-for-Days from the Mages Guild.”

I open my eyes to Jorunn staring at me, a worried expression on his face.

“Jorunn?”

“I’m here.” He scoots his stool a little closer to the bed, resting his hand on my own.

“What happened? Where’s the baby?” I look around the room for the first time and find I don’t know where I am. But Jorunn is here, so that’s a good sign.

“You were beaten pretty badly by Rageclaw. I gathered you and the infant, your horse, and brought you here to the Palace in Windhelm. Some mages tried to heal you—and they were mostly successful, but there are some wounds that just need time more than magicka.

“And he’s with the wife of one of our guards. She had a son recently herself, so she can care for him until we find someone who will take him.”

This upsets me. “No, that can’t happen. He’s my responsibility. I need to care for him, I found him.”

“Kaia, you’re in no condition to be tending to a newborn. Let this maiden do it. She’s able-bodied.”

“Jorunn, no. I need to do this. Bring him here. I need to see him.”

Now he’s upset. “I said that wasn’t a good idea.” But I can be just a bull-headed as he can.

“Bring him here.” There’s no room for negotiation in my tone.

He sighs heavily out his nose, making his beard shift with the breeze of annoyance. “You’re a stubborn woman, Kaia. You know that?” He stands and heads toward the door, closing it behind himself with a little more force than he was probably intending.

Although I want to get up and look around the room, the last time I tried was lesson enough. I stay lain on the bed, rendered near-motionless as I soak in the first sights of the Palace of the Kings from the inside.

I can tell the King of the Nords, the revered Skald-King, the High King of the Ebonheart Pact lives here. Are these his own personal sleeping chambers? From how large the bed is, I can assume so. The rest of the room looks barren almost, however. It seems he doesn’t spend much time here other than sleeping and other bed-related activities.

I know it’s been a while since I’ve seen him, but this thought strikes a coal of jealousy within me. However, I can’t dwell on the thought too long, as Vulf crosses my mind. I’ve been with Vulf since the last time I’ve had an encounter with Jorunn. It’s been quite a while, but still, the fact remains.

My inner ruminating is interrupted by Jorunn coming back into the room, a small wrapped-up bundle in his arms. He’s followed by an Argonian male in mage’s robes.

“Kaia, you need to let Sleeps-for-Days see you. Your wounds need to continue being tended to. But here is your baby you so demandingly requested.”

I want to rise to meet the boy from where he’s at, but my body again protests at just the thought of moving that far. So, I stay where I am as Jorunn sets the baby on the bed next to me.

I am barely aware of the Argonian mage moving the blanket I have yet to fully notice. He moves his scaly hands over the bandages, removing some and replacing others. However, I am, like mentioned, barely aware of this. I’m too busy looking at the child placed before me.

His facial features, which have yet to develop into much more than the generic baby stage, are soft and kind. What little I can tell from his features tell me he’s not full Nord—his mother must have had relations with another race for this beautiful product to be created.

“Hello, there, little one.” I can’t help a smile as I look upon this adorable face. And the bigger smile that follows when he opens his teeny little eyes and looks up at me, as if he knows I’m talking to him.

I look over to Jorunn and see a small smile of his own. A part of my mind tells me what his thoughts must be focused on: him remembering when Irnskar was born, how small and helpless he was, and that he knew from then on out, he’d have absolutely no control over the amount of love that he didn’t even know he was capable of. I figure this is what he’s thinking, as these are the only thoughts that consume my own mind.

“I think I’ll have him,” I tell Jorunn, looking up at him once again, as my eyes had shifted back to the baby boy’s face.

“You already had your mind made up, don’t you pretend,” he retorts, his smile still present.

* * *

Sleeps-for-Days finished his assessments on how my wounds are healing, finished wrapping them up, told me to stay as still as possible, and left Jorunn, me, and the baby alone.

“Well, what’s it going to be, Kaia?” I look up in confusion. He answers my silent question with, “His name. What are you going to name him?”

“Oh. Oh, I haven’t thought much about that.”

“Yet your mind hasn’t left him since I brought him into the room.” He stands to open the door, him having heard the quiet rap I missed. He comes back with a couple small glass bottles, artificial nipples attached to the ends. I take what I assume to be milk as he hands one to me. “Can you do it laying down?” I nod, taking the bottle gladly.

“Here you are, little one,” I tell the boy lying next to me.

He gladly accepts the nourishment, suckling faster than I would have thought possible. _Is he actually getting all that down?_

“So, no ideas, huh?” Jorunn interrupts my curious thoughts.

“No, I haven’t a clue. What do you think would suit him? He’s at least half Nord. But look.” I point my chin at the little baby’s face. “His features aren’t all hard, like a Nord’s. Maybe he has Redguard or Breton in him. Should I take that into consideration?”

“I think you’re looking too much into it, Kaia,” Jorunn laughs. “He’s yours now, so should it matter what you name him?”

I think for a bit, still drawing blanks. “I just want it to mean something special. Because gods know he is.”

* * *

I’ve been able to get up and move around the room a little these last two days. But Sleeps-for-Days doesn’t want me to push it. He said I could tear my stitching apart without realizing it and I would be bedridden for at least another week, if not two. I decide to trust who Jorunn calls “the best mage in Eastmarch.”

Jorunn quietly thanks the cook’s assistant for delivering another meal for us. “With any luck, you can leave in a few days.” He smiles at me as he sits at the small table he’s had migrated to his room. He unbundles the fork and knife from the napkin and digs into what smells like potatoes and a slab of meat.

“‘Leave?’ Do you have visitors coming soon?” I think of all the bureaucrats and ambassadors he’s had in these walls in the past years, trying and succeeding to form the Pact. All the merry men and women he’s had in his court, the spokespeople for various refugees, the Jarls and their folks for different concordances. He hasn’t said anything these last few days that made me think anyone was coming.

“No, nothing like that. The opposite actually. The Palace will be pretty barren these next few weeks. I was figuring you would want to go home, back to the Rift. I was planning on making sure you arrive safely. If you’ll have me, that is.” He looks unsure of himself.

I’ve only ever noticed Jorunn looking any kind of vulnerable in front of me—and seemingly me alone. It makes me both happy and sad simultaneously.

It makes me happy because it shows that he trusts me in ways he can’t trust his guard, counselors, or even his own son. Although, the latter of these should make me more upset than happy, since he can be more himself around me—someone he’s only known for a few years—than his own flesh and blood. But I find myself happy at this nonetheless.

It makes me sad because it shows how much he has to hide just to be the stoic High King everyone knows and trusts. He has to keep his emotions, his uncertainties, his behind-closed-doors boisterous self at bay. I find myself wishing that people could see who Jorunn truly is: a pragmatic yet jubilant man capable of having a good time, and not just “to keep up appearances.”

I realize that I’ve left him hanging on an answer while debating these things for the millionth time.

“Of course, I’ll have you. …Are you staying or are you coming back to Windhelm?”

“I’ll be staying, Kaia.” He chuckles, a low and hearty sound. “That’s why I asked if you’d have me. Also, there’s no point in staying here if it’ll be barren, yes?” He grins at me, as if he laid out all the pieces and I failed to put them together. Which I have.

“Oh. Makes sense.” I’m the one to chuckle this time. After a beat, “I’m glad you’ll be staying—at least for a little while. It feels like it’s been a lifetime since I’ve seen you…”

“For me as well. I’ve been wanting time away from the Palace to come and see you, but Skyrim doesn’t rest often. She’s a proud one.” He grins, albeit with a twinge of sorrow—most likely thinking of all the times being King has been hard on him.

The baby I’ve yet to name stirs, whimpering quietly. I instantly go to his side, lifting him with a bit of difficulty. Jorunn had Volknar, the town’s carpenter, build a cradle for my new bundle. At my request, he styled it the best he could in Breton fashion, as I believe that is my baby’s other ancestry—his skin is too light in colour to be part Redguard.

Out of the blue, a name hits me. Like a slippery slaughterfish. Right in the face. I burst it out, making the little one jump a little.

“Ivan!”

Jorunn seems to choke on a bite of bread at the same time the baby jumps. “Repeat that?”

“Ivan! That’s what I’ll name him.” I take a closer look at the boy. He stares back evenly, if not a bit worried. The features on his face tell me he’s not impressed with his new mother yelling suddenly. I laugh at the look he’s giving me.

“I thought you wanted a Breton name. Or a Nord name. I’ve never heard that one before.” Jorunn picks up a mug of mead and takes a drink, trying to persuade the food to go down better.

“Well, I was thinking about a few names. But I got thinking, and they were already taken… Or they didn’t have a ring to them.”

“Like…?”

“Well, for the Nord names, I was thinking Jeggi. But there’s Thane Jeggi Gap-Tooth. Sven. But I didn’t like it too much after considering it for long. Thallik. But… you know. Wormfather.

“As for Breton names, I was thinking maybe Edgar. But it sounded too gloomy. Darien. But I wouldn’t be able to say his name without thinking of that kid that got killed when we fought Molag Bal. And Duncan. But it felt like it belonged to someone already. Another son from another world. Creeped me out.”

Jorunn seems to have gotten his gullet under control. “So, Ivan? Where did that even come from?”

“Not sure. I was just playing around with sounds in my mind and I came up with that. And it didn’t sound too bad when I said it aloud.” I look back down to the face of the baby. “How about it, little one? You like it? Ivan?” He just continues to stare at me as if I’d lost my mind, again making me laugh.

“If that’s what you like. I’m sure it’ll grow on us,” Jorunn teases.

* * *

Jorunn procured a covered wagon and my and his horses from the stable and we set off for Nimalten a few hours ago. Baby Ivan and I are in the back with a few sacks of food, a few large waterskins, and the cradle that was especially made for him. Jorunn is up front, driving this rig. He’s traded his typical “king adornment” for some more practical attire—leather armour and a fur-lined hood. He keeps his battle-axe handy, at the ready in case of beast or marauder.

“I bet you can’t wait to be home!” he yells over the din of the snowstorm we happened across. _Why couldn’t it have been sunny?_

I lay Ivan in the cradle and hold it somewhat steady so the road won’t rock him to bits as I crawl my way up to where Jorunn can hear me.

“You know it!” I have to yell back, despite being only a foot away.

I think of my fireplace. It hasn’t been lit in about two weeks now. The house will be cold because I am almost positive this snowstorm spans across the border to the Rift as well. It is late into Evening Star after all.

And when we arrive at Autumn’s-Gate, I was right.

* * *

We managed to get the horses put away in the small stable I’d built when I first moved in, the small snowdrift moved away, the food and water put into respectable places, and the cradle at the end of my bed.

Now, as I sit on the couch, Jorunn adds more firewood to the fire as Ivan sleeps soundly through the sound of heavy snowfall.

“I told you I could do it,” I begrudgingly tell Jorunn, indicating the stack of wood.

“And I told you Sleeps-for-Days said not to do more than you have to. You’re still healing, Kaia. Why do you think I’m here anyway? To let you do everything and accept the status of ‘guest?’ I hardly think so.”

He sits back down next to me, throwing his arm over my shoulders. I lean into him involuntarily.

“Mm. It’s warm in here now.” Despite it still being rather chilly, he knows what I mean and smiles.

We sit in comfortable silence for what seems like an era—almost long enough for me to go to sleep right here—when he asks me an unexpected question.

“Kaia, do you ever think about the future?”

I wake fully from my almost-slumber. “Hm. Sometimes. Why do you ask?” I look up at him. He’s looking into the now-dying fire—I guess I did fall asleep—and his features are unreadable.

“What about Vulf? Do you think about his future?”

My eyebrows come together. “He is my friend. I suppose I worry about his—what he’s going to do with it.”

“Is he in _your_ future?”

I turn my body toward Jorunn a bit more, getting a better angle at his face. Its features aren’t hard now, so much as a bit peeved. I don’t understand what he’s feeling right now.

“Possibly. You know him well enough from what I’ve told you: he’s a come-and-go type of person. He likes to move around, never staying in one place for too long. That’s why we used to travel together. You know I was the same way when I was younger.” I see he’s just a wee bit more cross now. “Why does it matter?”

“You have Ivan now. He hasn’t been around in… how long? Do you want someone like him in your son’s life?” He won’t look at me, even as he poses this question.

“Well, he is now what I was then. I trust him enough to be around Ivan—”

“That’s not what I was really asking.” He looks at me finally. “What I mean is, ‘You’re a changed woman, and he hasn’t changed a bit. Are you going to continue to see him, even as there is an infant in your house?’”

“‘See him?’”

“I know that he’s more than just a friend, Kaia.”

I’m taken aback by this. I’m struck silent for a span of time by this. Finally, “…Do you not like it?”

Now is his time to be silent. After some thought, he says, “I don’t. But I won’t tell you how to live either.” He pulls his arm back from behind me, gently tugging on it. “Come on. Let’s get you to bed.”

We both settle underneath my fur blankets, me hugging his back so he won’t hurt mine.

_Why did he ask that tonight?_

* * *

I awake to find Jorunn missing from bed. And when I get up—wondering why Ivan has been so quiet all night—I see that he’s gone, too. I shudder to think my sudden panic is caused by something real, that Jorunn took Ivan and ran.

_He seemed pretty upset last night about the whole Vulf situation. And he did mention Ivan being in the middle of it. Would he take him and leave though?_ I don’t want these thoughts to exist, but they intrude my mind anyway.

I quickly step into some fur-lined boots, throw on a cloak, and head into the courtyard. No sign of them here.

I step outside the gate and am met by a snow-trodden Nimalten across a frozen-over river. No sign of them there either.

_The horses are still in the stable,_ I think. _The cart is where we left it—I believe that’s it under the snow. Where could they have gone?_

I finally notice a trail of fresh prints in the snow. They lead the opposite way of town. With no other options, I follow it a little way. Until I see a large figure.

“Jorunn!” The snow muffles my voice, but he still hears me with seemingly no difficulty. He turns toward me as I start running to him.

Once I catch up, my breathing a big ragged, he reprimands me, “You shouldn’t be running, Kaia.”

“Where are you headed?” I ask, ignoring his strong recommendation. “Where are you going with him?” I gesture to Ivan, still trying to catch my breath.

“We were just out for a stroll. I didn’t want him to wake you—you were sleeping so well. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you with him gone.”

With that answer, I move onto the other thought plaguing my mind. “Why did you ask about my future last night, Jorunn? And about Vulf? You’ve never mentioned it before.”

He looks at me with a bit of fright in his own eyes. “I was just wondering.”

“It was more than that. I don’t know how long I was out on the couch, but it was long enough for you to contemplate something. What was it?” My breathing starts to become a bit less laboured.

“I was just happy to see you after all this time. I was thinking about having my future with you. But I realized I didn’t know what your plans were—I didn’t know if Vulf was included in them or not. That would be a tad complex, don’t you think?”

I reach for Ivan—my buffer. Something to take my eyes away from Jorunn.

“I see how it could,” I agree. After some thought, and after we started walking back to Autumn’s-Gate, I continue. “I guess I haven’t thought much about my future, in all honesty. But I suppose it’s something I need to put some serious thought into now.” I look down to the baby in my arms. He’s still fast asleep.

We walk in silence until we reach home. I lay Ivan back in his cradle, cover his little form, and make my way into the kitchen to find something to eat. Jorunn is already there, mixing some things in a bowl for pastries with berries. He’s quiet. I sit at the table and watch him work, watch him not “accepting the status of guest,” as he put it.

“I was thinking,” he says suddenly, “about asking you if you’d like to come live with me, in the Palace of the Kings.” He keeps his eyes on his work as he says this. “But I see that you like your life here in the Rift.”

I find myself unable to speak for a minute. _He wants me to live with him?_

After finding some coherent thought, I reply. “Yes, I do like living here. It’s been my home for a while now.” I think of an aspect I’ve yet to. “Plus, I feel it would be better for Ivan to grow up in a smaller town. It can be just as much his home as it’s been mine.”

Jorunn nods, deep in thought—his head movements flow with his hands as he kneads the dough to be rolled out.

“You’ll continue to come visit us?” I ask. He continues nodding. “We can make the trip up there from time to time ourselves. The riffraff isn’t always terrible in the city.” He continues nodding. “Jorunn.” He looks at me, completely stopping his food preparation.

“Would it make you feel better if I stopped seeing Vulf all together?”

“I’m not going to tell you how to live,” he repeats his words from last night.

“I mean it,” I tell him, a bit sterner than I was intending. “You’re important to me. If you don’t like it, I’ll stop. I mean, I’m not stupid. I can tell you don’t like it. I just… I want to hear you say it.”

He plants his fists, knuckles down, on the chopping block he’s been working on. Taking a deep breath, he responds, “No. I don’t like it. And it’s not because I want you all to myself.” He closes his eyes. “That’s a lie.” He sighs and looks at me.

“I don’t understand what you would want with that Redguard. You two have a past, I understand that. You delved into caves and saved each other countless times. Adventuring as youths. Spending the nights together so you would be a little less lonely. That’s fine. But he’s a heathen, don’t you think? A delinquent? Raised by the Khajiit in Elsweyr—I don’t care for it much. But now, it’s not just him around you. It’s him around Ivan. I’ve known this boy for almost as long as you—longer, if you take away the time you were out after Rageclaw. I’ve never met Vulf, but from what you’ve told me, I’d hardly call him the ‘fathering’ type. I want what’s best for Ivan, just as you. I just don’t think Vulf is a good person for him to be around.

“And, yes. I do want you all to myself. I’d like to think I treat you far better.” With this, he returns to his food—slapping the dough into a Dutch oven, feeding the fire another log, and placing the oven over it.

He comes and sits next to me at the table. “What if you got pregnant, Kaia, with his child? Have you thought about what would happen? Would he give up his nomad lifestyle to be the father you and the child would need, or would he leave you altogether? Maybe he’d pop in from time to time, as he does now, just to see how his son or daughter is doing, before leaving yet again. He might never return. Or would he even let it go that far? I wouldn’t put it past him to hire a mage to force a miscarriage—”

I cut him off my standing and going into the bedroom.

I’m holding Ivan while lounging on the bed when he comes in. “Can I ask what I said that upset you?”

“I can’t get pregnant.” I look up at him and he sees the few tears I was trying to hide in the kitchen. He comes over and sits on the edge next to me, silently prompting me to continue.

“All the times I was with Vulf, all the times I was with you, I didn’t have to worry about it. There was no threat of me becoming with child and losing it on the battlefield, or me having to quit my lifestyle at the time and be plunged into motherhood.” He looks at me with his thick eyebrows casting a shadow over his eyes.

I take a deep breath and delve in.

“A long time ago, when I was growing up in the Elven Misfits caravan, one of the audience members didn’t like that I won a cage battle. They had a bet against me, and I made them lose it—said it was over five thousand gold. So, they put a curse on me. They told me my lineage would stop with me. Right then and there, I knew I was barren. And, well, I haven’t become pregnant yet in this last decade or so.”

I look from Jorunn to Ivan. This sweet, little bundle of happiness that happened into my life at just the right time. If I’d found him when I was younger, I would have either left him where he lay or had taken him to a nearby town and left him there. I hate to admit that’s what I would do, but I know my younger self. She was heartless.

“Now, you don’t have to worry about that,” Jorunn says, disrupting my disgust. “You have a son.”

I nod. “But I’m worried I’ll mess this up. What if I was never meant to be a mother?”

He chuckles quietly. “Never thought I’d be a father. Never thought I’d make a good one, at that. But I believe Irnskar turned out alright. For the most part. I know a thing or two about raising a son, if you ever need help.”

Something that has crossed my mind a lot again makes its appearance. I decide to ask. “What ever happened to his mother?”

Jorunn smiles a little. “She’s no longer with us. Hasn’t been for some time now.”

“Oh. Oh, I’m sorry. Did she pass during childbirth or afterward?”

“No, no. She’s alive. I believe.” He sighs, the grin still present. “My time to tell a story, I suppose.

“She and I were young—let’s just begin with that.

“She and her family worked for us. Her mother was a cook and her father was my brother’s housecarl for a time. She fancied my Skald abilities and I fancied her everything. She was a pretty lass. Didn’t hurt that all it took was one song to lead her to—” He remembers who he’s talking to and clears his throat.

“Well, since she was of a lower class, my family would not acknowledge our relationship. They sent her away, finding another housecarl for Fildgor and easily replacing her mother with another cook.

“I was rebellious then—I know, hard to believe—and I snuck out to see her. Wasn’t a few months later and she refused to see me anymore. It was a slap in the face. I loved her, and I thought she loved me. But when she said she wasn’t meeting me any longer, I began to question it.

“Weeks passed. Months. She was nowhere to be seen. Her parents, likewise. But she must have seen me still returning to our usual spot at the usual time, hopeful she’d come back to me. One night, there was a basket. It had a note attached, and I’ll never forget what it said: ‘I miss you greatly, my Skald-Prince. But we cannot afford any more time together. Keep him as a token of our love. I’ve been calling him Irnskar.’

“Before I unwrapped him, I thought she brought me a puppy—a bird, maybe. But he started crying. And I knew what all she meant. That we couldn’t have any more time, that he was ‘a token of our love,’ ‘calling him Irnskar’ and all that. She stopped seeing me and her family moved away because I got her pregnant.” He shakes his head. “Just a couple of dumb kids, is what we were.

“My mother wasn’t happy about it, but she didn’t have to deal with it for all that long: she died and Nirnhild became Queen. She was much more gracious than our mother was.”

It’s a lot to take in, having never known about his past in this regard, but I ask, “So, you never saw her again? Just, poof, she was gone?”

He nods. “Poof. I find myself still missing her here and there, but Irnskar helped me move on a great deal. It’s been a couple years since I last thought of her.”

I feel guilty for having broached the topic now. “I’m sorry—I didn’t know it would be a touchy subject.”

He shakes his head, looking down at me. “Nothing to worry about, my dear. If anything, I’d say that that’s a good thing.” A small smile touches his lips. “I think it was about the time I met you, the last time she crossed my mind. Even then, you were so special, you took her place effortlessly—and without either one of us really knowing.” He chuckles a bit and I can’t help my own at hearing his relief.

I decide we need to finish our other conversation before it becomes a festering sore for us.

“Jorunn.” He looks back at me, his eyes having drifted off. “I won’t see Vulf anymore. If he comes by, he comes by. But all we’ll do is visit, have a meal. Maybe train my sword arm in the courtyard some. It’ll be a while until I can go out again, and I don’t want to lose my abilities.” I pull the blanket around Ivan a little closer to his face, the chill in the house enough to have his cheeks a rosy colour.

“I won’t ask that of you,” he replies, reiterating his words once more, “to never see him again. That’s not my decision.”

“It’s not,” I agree, still looking at Ivan’s sleeping form. Looking up to Jorunn: “It’s mine. And I’m choosing you. You’re better for me. You always have been. And certainly the better father for Ivan.” I look back to my baby to avoid the look on Jorunn’s face when I ask, “If you’ll be his father?”

I feel Jorunn’s hand on my cheek. Gazing up, he looks me straight in the eyes as he says, “I’d be honoured.”


	2. Courtyard Chronicles

Courtyard Chronicles

Kaia POV

_ when the party’s over _ by Billie Eilish

Ivan has been trying to expand his abilities over the last year or so. Vulf—who has come by from time to time since I brought Ivan home—tells us that Ivan’s a Templar, like him. He has the aptitude of a healer, he says. And I’ve seen it firsthand, so I know Vulf isn’t full of it.

I’ve nicked my hand while trimming deer steaks, been kicked by startling the horse outside. All the times I’ve been injured in some capacity, Ivan stepped forward, a worried look in his eyes at his mother being hurt, and laid his hand on the wounded area. Within a few seconds to a few minutes, the pained area began to heal, or at least feel better.

Vulf has told us both that his abilities would only be strengthened if he were to have a restoration staff. But I’ve been hesitant to take my twelve-year-old son out into the world. He doesn’t know what’s out there—but I do. I’m afraid he’ll get hurt. Or worse. The fiends of Tamriel can be worse than the monsters.

“Good evening,” I hear behind me. I turn to see Vulf has let himself into Autumn’s-Gate as I read by the fireplace, Ivan stroking his lute Jorunn gifted him.

“Haven’t you ever heard of knocking, you brute?” I set my book on the side table, Ivan lays his instrument next to him on the floor, to welcome our guest.

“I have, but I find it unnecessary when you’ll let me in anyway.” He sits next to me on the couch. “How are you?”

“Been better, but could be worse. This cold weather has me all in a flurry.”

“It’s not yet Hearthfire. You’re turning into an old woman, Kaia,” he chuckles. “I thought Nords were supposed to be immune to snow and everything.”

“Well, this Nord gets chilled from time to time.” I chuckle myself at how ridiculous it is. _He’s right. I’m not sure why my blood doesn’t warm me as well as any other Nord. And I thought the beastblood was supposed to make us run warmer on top of that._

After a bit of silence, Ivan speaks. “Vulf, look what Father gave me.” He heaves the lute back into his lap and plays a chord he’s been perfecting for the last hour. “Isn’t it rather fetching?” He hands it to his other paternal figure, who takes it with utmost care—looking much like he’s never held an instrument in his life. _Probably hasn’t._

“This is quite the piece of wood,” Vulf verifies, gently plucking a string. “Jorunn gave it to you, you said?” Ivan nods, a smile on his face. “Well, I suppose he’s known as the ‘Skald-King’ for a reason, eh?”

He’s trying to keep his tone light for Ivan, but I can hear it—his disdain for the man he can’t help but see as a sort of rival.

Ever since Ivan came into my life, and Jorunn helped me get onto my feet—both literally and figuratively—helping me learn how to cope with my sudden motherhood, I decided Jorunn would have my sole attention. True, it was nice to have Vulf here at the house when he would stop by—nice to have some form of familiar companionship during the cold nights—but overall, it just wasn’t worth it. I knew it upset Jorunn, despite him telling me countless times that he refused to tell me how to live, who to choose.

And I really couldn’t blame him with how it distressed him. All the times I sat and wondered if he had relations with people in Eastmarch, or across all of Tamriel during his travels—it bothered me deeply. Why did I find it hard to offer him the same courtesy that he offered me, when he voiced that I was his only?

Vulf was less than pleased when I told him about this choice. “What does he offer you that I don’t?” he’d asked. “Just because he’s a king, you think he’s the better option?”

“It has nothing to do with that, Vulf,” I’d assured him. “He just is a better match for me. He has more to offer Ivan.” I jostled the then sleeping toddler in my arms.

“Because he’s already a father and knows how to handle children? I can learn, Kaia.”

“No. Because he’s around, Vulf. When he’s gone, he’s taking care of Skyrim, Morrowind, and Black Marsh. He’s not trudging down some cave in hopes of striking it big, or… or trying to woo the bar-maidens in Daggerfall to have a warm bed for the night.” Ivan stirred a bit, so I decreased my volume. “I can rely on him. That’s what he offers: reliability.”

I come back to Nirn from my memories. Vulf hands the lute back to Ivan, who begins playing again, practicing the notes Jorunn taught him. Vulf turns to me. “Is it okay if I stay here tonight?”

I nod, “Of course.” I stand to retrieve a blanket from my bedroom for Ivan, who takes the couch on nights we have a visitor, whether it be Vulf or Jorunn.

Ivan moved from his cradle to my bed once he became too big, the only bed in our house doing us both a favour for being big enough for us both, even as he continues growing. But, out of respect, he moves to the couch when we have someone stay the night.

I hand the blanket to Ivan on the floor, who sets his lute against the flour sack behind him. “I’m not ready to go to bed yet, Mother,” Ivan states. “I want to stay up and play some more. Can I?”

“I don’t see why not—it’s still relatively early. Would you mind?” I ask Vulf, as he turns his attention to me from Ivan.

“Not at all. It’s nice to hear live music.” He looks behind me, toward the bed. “I’ll think I’ll get to sleep early tonight anyway. I’ve been on the road too long. Don’t let me interrupt your evening.”

I sit back down on the couch. “Sure.” I watch as he himself stands, rustles Ivan’s hair, kisses the top of my head, and disappears behind the partition into the bedroom.

Ivan picks up his lute yet again and continues his practicing. I listen for a few minutes until I hear Vulf has settled into the mattress. Rising from my seat, I kiss Ivan’s crown, tell him I love him with a wish to sleep well, pour some mead from the kitchen keg, take a sip, and walk into the bedroom myself.

Vulf is lying on his side, facing away from where I sleep—his long and thick black hair partially splayed on my pillow. I set the tankard on the nightstand and undress, changing into some braies and a chemise—what I always sleep in.

I climb in and grab the mead, taking another large gulp. “Here,” I tell him, heaving the mug in his direction.

He looks over his shoulder. Seeing what I’m offering, he slips onto his back, his elbow propping him up. Taking it, he utters, “Thanks,” before drinking nearly half of it in one go and trying to hand it back to me.

“No, no. I brought it for you.” He nods and finishes it off, setting the empty receptacle on his own nightstand.

He lays on his back, resting his arm under his head, looking up at the vaulted ceiling of Autumn’s-Gate. We’re both listening to Ivan strumming his instrument, becoming better with every passing minute.

Sure he can’t hear us over the partition and through the music in front of him, Vulf quietly says, “He has a lot of respect for Jorunn.” _There it is._

I heavy sigh—partly in contentment that he’s here again and safe, partly in dread that he’s broaching the subject finally. “Yes, he does.” I look over at Vulf who still has his head propped with his arm. He’s looking intently at the lanterns hanging from one wall and running to the other; another matching set running across the kitchen.

“Does it still bother you?” I ask, breaking his silence.

He knows what I mean. “Sometimes.” He finally turns his head and looks me in the eye. “I know I can’t always be counted on. I’ve been trying to work on that,” he states quietly. Ivan’s playing has become sparser, telling me he’s getting tired and will likely go to sleep soon. Vulf recognizes this too, yet he continues quietly, “I want to be in his life more. He’s a fantastic boy. Soon to be young man. I want to be able to help you when he starts to transition—” Ivan’s strings go still, quiet. We hear him rustling out of his clothes and the _fwop_ of the blanket out over the couch, him relaxing into it. Vulf and I stay silent until we hear Ivan’s small snores.

Vulf continues where he left off, still in a soft voice to avoid waking the child. “It’s going to be hard. You’ve never been around a boy coming into manhood. I could at least help you handle that, help him know what’s going on—why his body is becoming something different than he’s used to. When I was becoming of age, it wasn’t easy. My clan didn’t explain things. What little they did didn’t apply to me, me being a ‘five-claw’ and all. Redguards and Khajiit hardly mature the same.” He realizes he’s gotten off topic and returns to what his choice issue for discussion seemed to be. “Would I be welcome if I dropped in more often?”

“We’d be happy to have you,” I say in a tone of almost disbelief. “Why wouldn’t you be welcome here?”

He glances at the entrance into the main room, then at my face, asking another question instead of answering mine. “What if Jorunn’s here?”

I take a slow breath. “Then I suppose you get to meet him at last.”

He looks away, back to the ceiling. “I wonder if the house would be big enough for us both, though.” Even though it would be a close call on space had he meant it literally, I know he means it figuratively.

I move to face him more directly, causing him to look at me again.  
“Vulf’dar.” I rarely use his full, Khajiit-given name. He looks at me with more earnest now. “I hardly think you two will have such a dispute. _You_ care about me and Ivan. _He_ cares about me and Ivan. You two already have more in common than you’re willing to think. Now, I know both of you—you’ll both disagree with me on that. But who knows you both here? Me. So, stop worrying about him, please. I know just his very existence bothers you.” I heave a sigh. “But it’s not really worth it.”

He looks at me with a quietness about him. His face shifts from solemn to somber—just a slight shift, but I see it all the same. He moves his arm from under his head, propping himself up on the other again, and wraps his hand around the side of my face.

“I didn’t know what I had while I had it—just underneath my nose.” He leans forward and kisses my forehead, and I close my eyes, unsure of where this conversation is heading—not ready for it, whatever it is. He continues.

“It’s not when Ivan came into your life, Kaia—when you chose Jorunn over me. Although that was difficult, too, that wasn’t what did it for me. It was when you bought this house from the alderman in Nimalten.” I open my eyes, shocked his feelings on this topic spans back that far. _That was fifteen years ago._

He removes his hand from my cheek, but stays in the same position.

“You were done,” he resumes. “The times we had were over, I could tell. All the dungeons, the caves, the delves and bosses. Over. And I couldn’t handle that.

“We’ve known each other for twenty years now. Damn near twenty-five. All I knew was the wild Kaia that grew up in the Elven Misfits, that enjoyed her beastblood—used it often. But, when you wanted to learn more about your Nord culture, changed your name, stopped transforming so much and all that—” He sighs. “…All I knew was ViLettie. And sometimes, even now, I really miss her.

“I mean, I still love you for who you are, be it ‘Kaia’ or whatever you want to go by. But I just miss those times, you know?”

We’re both wordless now.

I break from his gaze and lie on my back, absorbing all he had to say. It had to have been the longest speech I’d heard from him on a topic other than a scheme on how to get rich. _He loves me?_ I can’t help but think. _He’s never said that before…_

“What are you thinking, Kaia?” he breaches my thoughts after a few minutes.

“That… that was unexpected. You’ve—” Honesty was always the better policy with Vulf. “You’ve never said you loved me.”

I can still feel his eyes boring holes into the side of my face. “It’d be hard not to.”

I fall silent yet again, not knowing how to reply. All this is news to me—after twenty-three years of knowing the man.

After a minute, I hear him speak again. “I’ve known you for a long time. But you’ve chosen your bedfellow, and I have to respect that. It’s not like I’ve treated you the best in the past. You deserve someone better than a trollop—a regular vagrant. Even though I don’t want to admit it, I’m… glad you have Jorunn—that Ivan has him as a father figure. He takes good care of you both. I have to hand him that.” He rubs his thumb over my hand, says, “Goodnight,” turns to face the other wall, and falls asleep after a beat.

It takes me much longer to drift off, and when I do, I fall into a fitful rest.

* * *

Because I did not sleep well, I stayed asleep longer than I typically do. When I cast my eyes open, I see Vulf isn’t in bed anymore. Part of me wonders if he left the house, ready to be on his way after last night’s exchange. The other part of me—which takes longer to wake up—hears him and Ivan in the courtyard out front.

I dress in a shirt and some trousers and walk outside barefoot, to see Vulf and Ivan by the laundry-line near the stable. They seem to be in the midst of training of some sort.

Vulf hurls down some Aedric spears onto Ivan, which he deftly deflects with a shield of the same bright light as the spears. Rolling behind the nearby tree, Vulf then throws a ball of sunlight at Ivan, who again deflects the blow with his shield. He retaliates by throwing his own light ball of energy, grazing Vulf’s arm, despite him being partially protected by the tree.

Ivan immediately stops and runs to him. “I’m so sorry, Vulf!” He looks at the wound, which has left a searing mark on his arm, ripping through the fabric.

“Don’t worry about it, kid. I got it.” He goes to place his hand on the lesion, but Ivan stops him with his own hand.

“Let me.”

He lays his hand, ever so gentle, on Vulf’s arm. Without a word, a small light emanates from it, before raising it up again and inspecting the spot. He seems happy with the slight pucker that was a bleeding laceration just moments before, smiling as he looks up at Vulf, proud of himself.

“You’re a natural healer, Ivan. I’ll allow for that. But you still need to work on your offense. People and monsters both out there know to attack healers first, because they typically cannot defend themselves as well—and can keep the true warriors alive longer.” He moves his arm around, checking to see that it can still be used in combat. “Again.” He goes to make a defensive stance when he finally notices me standing in the doorway. “Kaia!”

I step down into the dirt where my son has been training his various abilities.

“How’s it been going, boys?” I ask. Going closer to Vulf, I take his arm in my hands, looking at the now pink line that represents where he got hurt just a minute ago.

“He’s been doing okay. Still needs practice. You should start training with him, Kaia.”

I look from his arm to his face. “You know how I feel about that,” I say quietly.

“Yeah, Mum. You should start training with me. I always have fun when I’m doing it with Vulf. I’d love to do it more often, when he’s not here.” Vulf’s face earns a hard sadness at hearing this, but lets it go.

I look to my son. “Ivan, I’m afraid I’ll be too rough and you’ll get hurt. Or that I won’t be hard enough an opponent for you, and you won’t get sufficient training.”

“All the same,” replies my twelve-year-old, “I’d like to have the chance.” Vulf looks at me, a sort of pleading in his eyes.

I’ve been thinking on this for some time already—nearly this whole last year Ivan has been practicing—and I finally make up my mind. It’s a tough decision, but with both Ivan and Vulf looking at me like this, I make it anyway.

“Oh, alright.”

Vulf utters a quiet, “Yes,” throwing his fist into the air while Ivan jumps on me, giving me a hug for finally relinquishing.

“Careful now,” I chuckle. “You’ll want to save your strength.” I disentangle his arms from me. “I’ll be right back.”

I go back into the house and dig through my locked chest in the bedroom. Ivan’s always known this chest to be off limits, that it’s Mother’s chest. I keep portions of my past in it, on the off chance I may need them again someday. It is here I retrieve my sword and shield, place my armour in their respective places on my body. _It’s been so long since I’ve used these,_ I think.

I debate whether or not to use my sword. The sharp edges of the metal are sure to badly injure, if not completely kill, my son. Gods know I’ve disposed of plenty after they had a meeting with the weapon. Putting it back into the chest, I grab one of the two play swords I have locked up. I’d been wanting to train with Ivan for years, and nabbed them on one of my very few trips to Riften so we could. But I haven’t been wanting to face the reality of my little boy growing up. Despite this, I grip the wooden sword in my hand and head for the door again.

Walking back into the courtyard, I hear Ivan gasp. He’s never seen me in anything other than commoner’s clothing—clothes to tend to the horse, my garden, clothes to cook and play around with him in.

Vulf just smiles. “There’s the woman I know.”

I heave my shield a little higher, the dragon heads on the large chunk of metal displaying themselves proudly, glistening in the morning sunlight.

“Now we can get started,” Vulf says and he walks from their training site to where I’ve kept the covered wagon across the courtyard, the one Jorunn brought down when Ivan was born—all that time ago, it just sitting there. He lifts a staff from behind it and comes back over to Ivan and me.

“You don’t carry staves,” I tell him. “What’s that for?”

He hands it to Ivan, who takes it with a hesitant hand, replying, “Who says it’s for me?”

Ivan gets his meaning almost immediately and stares between him and the staff, wide-eyed. “This is mine?” he asks, his voice displaying his sense of unbelieving astonishment.

“It is now.” The Redguard looks at me, as if in expectance of me denying him this gift. When he sees I’m okay with it, he smiles and continues. “When I was a kid—no older than you, in fact—my Clan Mother decided I needed a weapon. But she was wise and know I didn’t have the power of the warrior—at least, not at that time. So, she had the carpenter make this. It’s a restoration staff. It’ll help you hone your abilities even more. You seem to heal well with your hands already—imagine how much more you could do with that thing.”

I look more closely at the staff my son now bears. It’s small—not in any way grandiose or extravagant. The wood was carved delicately, with a master’s hands. There is a red gem sitting at the top, seemingly fashioned into its very essence. It looks like nothing would ever bring it out, not even a spell meant to separate two of the strongest materials. Its entirety screams to me _Redguard style_. The Khajiit that Vulf was raised with must not have wanted him to forget his true heritage.

Ivan looks at the staff in his hands as if he’s never seen anything so beautiful. After a few moments, he remembers Vulf exists and runs forward to wrap his arms around him. “Thank you! Oh, thank you so very much!” I can’t help but notice his posher voice coming out in his excitement. Vulf looks to me, happiness beaming from his face. He mouths _thank you_ to me, which I reply with nod and a smile of my own.

* * *

Vulf ended up staying with us another couple nights, being woken up early each morning by Ivan, eager to train in the courtyard with his new staff. Even after a couple days’ time, I could tell he was absolutely a natural, like Vulf stated so perfectly, and his abilities were skyrocketing—increasing tenfold by the end of each night.

Turns out—with my lack of knowledge, I didn’t know this—that restoration staves also have the capability to defend its wielder. When Ivan wasn’t healing his, my, or Vulf’s minor wounds, he was hurling magicka from the end of the staff, making me relieved that he might handle himself well out in the Mundus—yet also worried, now that he could fight back, that he’d want to leave and eventually get hurt. _A mother’s woes,_ I chalked it up to.

Ivan was upset when Vulf said he had to leave. I didn’t ask where he was headed—I doubted he knew that himself. But I know it makes him anxious to be in one place for too long. So, he started packing his scant belongings on the fourth day of his visit.

* * *

“Why do you have to leave, Vulf?” Ivan asks him as he continues to pack his things, mainly food and water for the road now. “We’re having such a good time!”

“I know we are, buddy. But Nirn calls to me. …You’ll understand one day.”

I hate this saying. All the times I heard it from the leaders of the Elven Misfits ruined it with ease. They said it when I’d ask questions they found they didn’t want to answer, as people often do—not wanting to take the time to explain something, or in my case, not wanting to speak the full truth. I know that that’s not what Vulf means—I know that Ivan _will_ come to get his meaning at some point in his life—but I still can’t help the slightly displeased face I make in hearing the phrase.

Ivan and I walk out the door behind Vulf, his pack hanging off his shoulder. Approaching his horse he parked next to ours in the stable, he fastens the pack to the saddle and turns toward us.

“Well, it’s been lovely,” he remarks.

“It has been lovely,” I echo.

Ivan goes to him slowly, as only a disappointed child can, and gives him a long hug. “I’ll miss you until you come back, Vulf.”

“I’ll miss you, too, Ivan. You _and_ your mother.” He glances up at me for a moment before squeezing the boy a bit harder then releasing him to open the gate that leads the courtyard into the great, big world. “But I’ll always be back. You know that. It’s just a matter of when, not if.”

He takes his horse by the reins and leads it out the gateway before stepping his foot into the stirrup and positioning himself on the pillion. He looks down at us, quietly uttering, “See you later,” and rides off toward Helgen.


End file.
